


Forbidden Legends: The Gauldur Legend

by Nalledia



Series: A Bard's Tale Series [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gauldur Legend, Gen, Tar and Lisette have their moment of fluff, Thalmor, Uthgerd and Mjoll are family, conflict of interest with Ondolemar, my hunbun doesnt like being at odds with his brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 10:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13479225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalledia/pseuds/Nalledia
Summary: High Elf Tawarthion is a mage at the College of Winterhold. A misadventure of a class trip to Saarthal, and a book called Lost Legends later, and he embarks on a quest to find the truth about the Archmage Gauldur, his sons and the amulet which started it all. *Will eventually be absorbed into Tar's story as it will be written*





	Forbidden Legends: The Gauldur Legend

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I do not own Skyrim or any of the NPCs, Quests or game dialog. The rest of the characters are mine. Enjoy and please review!  
> Oh! And while I’m at it – this is a part of the Tar fanfic(s) I want to write, so it’ll be added to that story when I get to that part. For now, it’s going to be a one-shot, inspired by my random thought of ‘I should have brought Jordis with’, right after my horse died and I was attacked by two Frostbite Spiders. It wasn’t a great start to my adventure, but it turned out pretty good, considering I did it solo the whole way through:D Which is the first time I’ve done that since… well, since TES: IV. Oh well. I took a creative liberty with Mjoll and Uthgerd (nothing weird – you’ll see), and Uthgerd is a little OOC – but at this point in Tar and Uthgerd’s story, they know each other well enough to be comfortable with each other to this extent, and that’s it. OH! If this is posted before I update For the Jester’s Heart, then this is set after the Maro assassination – mild spoilers there, but nothing too serious if you're reading that as well. Sorry about that:3 Enjoy!
> 
> Smh For the Jester's Heart is so damn old and so utter shite (at least the first 3 chapters) but I should just... stick it here. I'm still so proud of it despite how badly it's aged

_I should have asked Jordis to accompany me_ , Tawarthion thought as he clambered over rocks and snow to get to the crypt’s entrance, magicka tingling in his hands, but not quite glowing yet. _First Frostbite spiders, then my horse dies, and now I'm going into this crypt on my own,_ he complained silently, sighing as he stood in front of the door. For months now, the legend had bothered him, and upon re-reading a copy of _Lost Legends_ at Proudspire Manor on his return to Solitude, Tar’s curiosity had been piqued enough to take immediate action.

He pulled open the ancient stone door, stepping inside to the dark, stale air of a crypt and a long, narrow corridor with bone chimes hanging ominously from the arch in front of him. The rest was hidden from view, falling down a staircase to the rest of the crypt. Tar tucked his loose, auburn hair behind a pointed ear and walked forwards carefully, ears alert to any sound besides the soft drip of moisture and the chink of his steel armor as he moved.

Blood, entrails and two dead draugr surrounded the mutilated corpse of a dead adventurer – _Probably one of those camped outside_ – on the first landing just below the first stairway; and it was just in time that Tar noticed the pressure plate when he reached the bottom. He scowled at the old Nord trick, and knelt by the adventurer, searching for any clues about him and where he could find the others. _Nothing,_ Tar stood, quickly descending to the portcullised-arch. “Of course there are dragon claws involved,” he breathed, passing by the keyhole and grateful that he didn’t need to search for a claw or solve puzzles just yet.

The Altmer entered a circular room with puzzle stones – thankfully solved – and another dead draugr and adventurer lying side by side. He moved on quickly, clamping a hand over his nose and mouth as the stench of charred flesh slammed into him. The sound of oil being ignited sent him diving to the floor, narrowly missing the still-warm flesh as he skidded to a halt against the wall.

“ _Raah…._ ”

“By Auri-El,” he cursed, blasting lighting at the stray draugr. He sneered in satisfaction as it writhed and fell to the ground, dead. Tar picked himself up angrily and stalked on, not really caring if others heard him coming. How could he have missed the trap?

He didn’t get far when a two-storied chamber opened up in front of him, lined with several stone sarcophagi. Tawarthion grinned wryly, spying an oil spill that leaked to right in front of two of the sarcophagi. He cried out, making the draugr burst out of their coffins. He threw a fireball at the oil, a dark laugh escaping briefly as the undead Nords burned, flailing wildly. Tar turned his attention to one that escaped the blaze, and electrocuted him. Another charged from the side with a snarl, and Tar quickly set her alight and electrocuted her. The crypt was silent once more, and he was about to turn to Uthgerd and comment on the battle when he remembered Uthgerd wasn’t with him, but in Riften with her niece, Mjoll the Lioness. Tawarthion took a swig from his waterskin, then stalked deeper into the crypt.

A classic, spiral, wooden Nord stairwell loomed from a dark alcove at the end of the chamber, and Tar eyed the water and the grate at its base warily. The lever on the wall next to him didn’t go unnoticed, either. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, and the last time he had been caught in the water of a Nordic ruin, he had gotten sick – exactly what it had been, he didn’t want to remember. He’d never been so frustrated in his life before, and the fact that he barely knew any restoration magic hadn't worked in his favor, either. He testily stepped onto the grate a few times, then quickly bounded over to the first wooden step. Tar just made it when the grate collapsed, crashing into the water. He flinched, immediately pressing his back to the wall and looked up, hoping against hope nothing would come down. After a few tense seconds, Tar relaxed and headed up.

The last few draugr were already dead and behind a thick stone pillar covered in moss, Tar found the battered and broken body of a dark elf. His black robes were bloody and torn, and Tar only realized the creature had been an elf by the clothes he wore, he had been so emancipated in life. _This must be Daynas Valen, the lead researcher who wrote the journal,_ the Altmer realized. The mer in front of him had fallen over another dragon claw keyhole – presumably dropping the drawbridge – and clung to the pedestal as if it would save his life. _His search for the truth consumed him_ , Tawarthion thought sadly, gently moving the almost-stiff corpse to the ground and searched his pack for the claw. It was made of ivory, and Tar also found a leather-bound collection of notes, which he skimmed over briefly. It was the supposed tale of Gauldur and his three sons, and how the amulet Tar had found in Saarthal had been divided and the carnage that followed. Tar closed the volume and tucked it into the satchel on his back, tucked a few loose strands behind his ear again and unlocked the drawbridge. There was another amulet fragment inside Folgunthur, and he would find it.

Two draugr were waiting on the other side of the bridge, and Tar quickly dispatched them before they could react to his ice and lightning. He hurried through the ancient labyrinth they called a burial hall, easily spotting the few draugr who would walk and killed them before they could move – well, one managed to step down before it died. Despite all the twists and turns, the hall was fortunately short and quickly grew in height and width, before delving even deeper into the ground. _The portcullis should stay open,_ Tar shot a backwards glance at the four levers, and carefully inched down the stairs, his steel boots clinking softly on the stone floor. The stairs were steep and didn’t leave much space for his feet, as eroded by time and use many long years ago as they were, and twice Tar almost crashed down to the bottom, hissing and cursing softly in the murk. He sidled along to the right when he realized that straight down was a dead end, filled in by a collapsed roof and pillars. A sudden rumble made him freeze, throwing his arms out for balance just as a violent shudder racked the crypt, flinging him off balance as several small boulders were displaced, further destroying the stairs and apparently a draugr, as well. He coughed, waving his hand at the dust in the air. Tar stood up, wincing as a dent in his armor pressed into his hip, eyeing the offending spot with disgust when the pressure eased. Tawarthion inched closer to the rockfall, seeing the dead draugr and a partially crushed wooden door. He looked up at the origin of the rocks, and clambered down and over them to the door. He gave a frustrated sigh – the door had jammed with the rocks, and Tar struggled to ignite the rotted wood past the iron bracing. He cursed when he finally got through. “I need to learn alteration magic when I return to the College,” he muttered, walking to a throne room where a draugr was hunched over on a sword. Tar smirked, blasting it with ice only to duck under the battle axe of another draugr next to him. He ran into the room, using both hands to direct lighting at the second draugr, panting lightly as it fell to its knees and died, twitching as the remaining current coursed through its body, the axe clattering to the ground noisily.

Inside the room – now that he had time to look – were two thrones, a lever next to each one, and a grate in the middle with stairs leading even further down. There were also two passages leading to rooms behind the thrones, presumably opened by the levers. Across from the thrones was a chain. _I’ll open the grate, then explore the adjoining chambers before I go deeper,_ Tar thought, pulling the chain. He was about to step backwards when a dart whistled through his hair. He threw himself against the wall, waiting for the torrent to end. _Divines curse these Nord puzzles._

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Three draugr, another dent in his armor, a slightly bruised ego and a puzzle whose answer was Snake, Whale and Eagle later, Tawarthion finally started the descent. It seemed this particular crypt was soaked to the bone…. He sniggered at the pun, and carried on. It couldn’t be that much further, could it? He stopped, casting a weak clairvoyance spell. He was right – he was close. He trudged down the spiral stairs and into the water, dodging to the side as Frostbite spiders attacked. Tar killed one, and the second managed to hit him with the venom. He shivered violently, struggling to call on his magicka as his vision blurred and tried desperately to keep firing his magic at the creature before it could bite him. It hissed out of existence, and Tar healed himself as he waded through the knee-deep water, grateful for the waterproofing he had commissioned for his boots.

He gave a relieved chuckle when he saw the claw puzzle door at the end of the hall, despite the six closed sarcophagi lining the sides. He was almost at the end. _I still should have asked Jordis to accompany me_ , Tawarthion thought again, fire and lightning glowing in his palms as he warily stalked down to the claw puzzle.

He passed the middle two sarcophagi when the first pair burst out, followed by the middle pair. Tar bolted for the door in front of him, hearing the slam of the door behind, and cloaked himself in flames. When he reached the puzzle door, he turned and flung himself against it, giving the Nord undead only one direction to attack from. He fired chain lightning at the four draugr who faced him, knocking two out when the final two rose. “You’re late for the party,” he snarled, casting a fire rune on the floor. It wasn’t as strong as he would have liked it to be, but it still killed one draugr, set another on fire and the shockwaves kept the others from getting much closer. He froze the last one, carefully adding his fire to the others which still burned until they died. Tar wrinkled his nose against the stench – this was why he hated using fire magic. He walked back to the door which had slammed on him, and could almost smell the magicka that held it shut. It was a cool, snowy smell. _Only one way to go now,_ he thought grimly, striding back to the puzzle door as he pulled the claw out of his satchel, and a red scarf fell out with it. Tawarthion had found it the morning after Alysa had made such a speedy disappearance from his and Uthgerd’s camp on that strange black horse of hers up in The Pale two months ago. He stared at the crimson cloth, bundling it in his hands. She had seemed so broken then, when Uthgerd found her wandering into the camp on foot, the horse following close behind. Alysa had looked so lost, so broken, and then she had cried. Cried as one who had lost everything, her whole world, and Alysa had never explained what had happened or why – she had only disappeared, and the scarf had been caught in a branch, as if it had blown loose with the speed of her horse. He shook his head, stuffing the material into his satchel and pulled out his waterskin, taking a long draught this time. He hoped he’d be able to leave the crypt soon…. Tar re-examined the claw. _Eagle, eagle, dragon._

The stone wheels had slid easily to the next symbol from the three wolves originally lined up on the door, and when it grated down into the ground, a curved corridor led him to a door, and another corridor which ended in stairs. Thankfully they went up. The dark, dank and underground didn’t bother Tar as much as it did most other elves, and for that he was grateful, but it still wasn’t his favorite place to be.

Tawarthion finally came to a vast, lofty chamber with many pillars, and undoubtedly several undead Nords. Tar summoned a flame atronach, and readied a frost rune spell a few strides in front of him, placing a lightning one on a pillar. His flame atronach seemed happy to frolic for the time being, somersaulting and twirling as it explored the chamber with him. They didn’t get far when the first wave of draugr came – four of them, easily dispatched with the rune spells and the atronach, until one plunged a blade into it. Tar summoned the atronach again, feeling the toll the unfamiliar School was taking on his magicka.

The second wave of draugr came, harder to kill, and fiercer – much fiercer. Tar was forced to keep moving, keep running and firing increasingly weaker spells at his enemies until his magicka was depleted and the two potions he had with him were smashed bottles on the floor. The atronach had been destroyed quickly, as well. Tar managed to dwindle their numbers down to three of the five, when the final sarcophagus exploded open. Tar quickly backed away, managing a frost rune spell just as everything inside the crypt seemed to stop.

Mikrul stepped out, once fine clothes and armor decayed, faded and torn, rusted and dented from a long time ago. He bellowed at the ceiling, thrusting his blade into the air. Mikrul hissed and growled at the other draugr, slowly bringing his blade down to point at Tawarthion. The Altmer breathed heavily, glaring at Mikrul as the others charged. He cast another frost rune next to the first, and backed away. He would wait until the very end to use his Highborn power…. Two draugr were felled instantly, and the third was thrown backwards by the collective shockwave. Mikrul roared again, charging.

“Fus, ro _DAH!_ ” Tar Shouted, throwing the draugr back. His magicka replenished enough for one attempt at chain lightning.

Mikrul slammed into a nearby pillar, stone shaking with the force of Tar’s Thu’um, and the final draugr was now between Tar and Gauldur’s youngest son.

He cast his spell.

The lesser draugr fell, Mikrul writhed, and Tar called on his Highborn power. The rush of magicka filling him was intoxicating, exhilarating, powerful. This was how his people had won the war. He stared coldly at the ancient, shriveled Nord, his hands together as he focused a lightning storm spell between his hands.

Tawarthion released the magic, hurling it at Mikrul and watched in grim satisfaction as the draugr died, shrieking and writhing and twitching as the magic coursed through the husk of his body a few more times. Tar strode closer, taking the amulet fragment from the draugr’s body and headed deeper into the crypt – he’d be able to come full circle considering how large it was.

Tar came to a small chamber with a crumbling Word Wall when his magicka high finally died down, and walked closer to examine the old writing. One word stood out, called to him: Krah. Cold. He traced the letters, then turned and followed a narrow, steep passage blocked by a stone slab he kicked flat, chuckling at the irony. One of the living was coming out of the sarcophagus, and not one of the dead. He recognized the chamber immediately, and realized he was close to the entrance. Tar only stopped once to open a hidden chamber with the claw, unlocking the chest with a little difficulty to get a scroll to summon a storm atronach – it was the only prize worth taking from the chest.

It would take him a day to walk back to Solitude, so he decided to wait until dawn before making the trip. It was supposed to have been a one-day, once-off adventure which would leave his curiosity satisfied… and yet, he was already planning how he would get to the next crypt, and the things he would need….

It was already dark when Tar exited the Folgunthur, and he tiredly made his way to the camp the now-dead adventurers and researcher had set up. He thought about Lisette, a smile on his face, and how she would surely fuss over him when he returned to Solitude – he _had_ promised to return within the day, after all. He struggled to start a fire with the snow-dampened wood, and pulled all the furs together from all six tents to keep him warm in the cold Skyrim night.

Tawarthion dreamed of Lisette; her silvery hair, and gentle smile; her soft skin and tender touch; her sweet lips and the way she would feel when he held her in his arms again.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Dusk had just fallen when Tawarthion walked through Solitude’s gates, heading straight for the Winking Skeever. It was packed to the brim with people, and Tar wove his way through barmaids and drunks and the odd prostitute who reached out for him. He spied Lisette by the fire, playing the flute. He pushed through to a pillar, and leaned against it, waiting for the song to end. The last note faded, and the crowd watching her cheered, tossing a few coins into the bowl at her feet. She smiled, a light pink blossoming on her cheeks.

“How ‘but ‘noth’r?” a Nord drawled drunkenly, swaying in his seat on the bench with his tankard in the air. His friends cheered, sloshing alcohol onto each other.

“Wahssshhhh it…” one warned, spilling his drink over himself before throwing a punch at the closest man. Tar jumped forwards, moving straight for Lisette as she scooped up the bowl and dropped the coins into a pouch.

“Come,” he said, taking her into his arms.

“Tawarthion!” she breathed happily, letting him guide her out of the inn. The night air was cool outside, and fresh unlike the stuffy, moist air in the inn. “You’re late! You said you’d be back yesterday!” Lisette said, hands on hips, her brow furrowed in worry and her mouth slightly puckered. Tar simply stared for a moment. “Oh, Ysmir! Look at your armor! You didn’t ask Jordis to go with you, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I managed quite well on my own, Lisette.” He raised a hand, then gently caressed her face. “I’m fine; I’m not hurt.”

“Why are you late?” she asked, her honey eyes shining in the light of the moons.

Tawarthion smiled at her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I ran into some trouble going there, and my horse died. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Lisette was trying hard to stay angry and worried – Tar could tell. She threw her arms around him, and he carefully hugged her back. “Promise me you won’t go out alone again,” her voice was muffled against his chest, but his elven ears heard her clearly.

“For you, I promise.” Lisette pulled back a little to smile at him. “Let’s go home,” he added, looping an arm around her as they walked to Proudspire Manor.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Tawarthion stretched, breathing in deeply as he opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep in one of the chairs in his bedchamber – thankfully in a tunic and leggings, and not his armor – and Lisette was curled up in the middle of his massive four-poster bed. He had meant to leave once she had fallen asleep, and give her privacy but the journey and the sudden realization he was _home_ had sunk in and his body had simply given in to a deep sleep. He was stiff from sleeping in the chair, but stayed still for a while longer to watch Lisette sleep. She had a soft smile on her face from whatever she was dreaming about, and snuggled deeper into the pillow she was hugging. Tar smiled, wondering if his pillow knew how lucky it was. He suppressed a chuckle, silently letting himself out, opting for the guest bedroom across the private sitting area upstairs to freshen up. He changed his clothes, and stepped out, thinking to prepare a simple breakfast for himself and Lisette – Jordis would have been up and busy for a while now. Voices from below, though, made him stop to listen.

“I’m afraid he’s not receiving guests at the moment – I have to ask you to return later. I will let him know you have stopped by.”

“Now, I am inclined to believe you are lying. You will let me in, and you will find your – how is it you mortals say? – _Thane,_ and you will tell him that I am here.”

Tar closed his eyes. _Ondolemar. What are_ you _doing in Solitude?_ “It’s alright, Jordis. Let him in.”

“Come down from up there and offer your guest wine, Brother,” Ondolemar spoke softly, knowing Tawarthion would hear him.

Tar snorted. “Bring your own wine next time, you inbred imp,” he poked, taking the stairs down two at a time.

“I heard that!” the Thalmor Justiciar laughed, and the two mer embraced briefly.

“Jordis, bring up a bottle of spiced wine for us,” Tar said softly. He knew Jordis hated the Thalmor, and particularly Ondolemar for some or another reason. She nodded curtly, muttering ‘my Thane’ as she disappeared to the basement.

Tar gestured to the chairs by the fire, waiting for Ondolemar to make himself comfortable – cross his legs, fold his hands into his sleeves and place them in his lap – before even trying to make conversation. “This is how a mer should live – just a pity about their barbaric title you wear,” Ondolemar sneered before Tar could say anything when Jordis returned, opening the bottle and poured the wine into two goblets, placing it all on the table between them. Tar looked away, into the fire. Arguing wouldn’t help in the slightest. “Is there anything else you require, my Thane?” Jordis asked stiffly.

“Just one – will you see to my chambers?” Tar asked, looking back at his housecarl.

She blinked twice, quickly. “Of course, my Thane.”

Tawarthion tried hard not to look too relieved that she understood what he had meant. If Ondolemar saw Lisette, there would be all sorts of hell from the Thalmor’s side – specifically, from Tawarthion’s father. “That woman knows her place in this world…” Ondolemar noted again, pouring more wine into his goblet.

“You said something about ‘Thane’ being an unfitting title. Did you have something better in mind, like Justiciar?” Tar laughed, sipping at the wine.

“Exactly.”

Tar blinked at Ondolemar, his mirth gone. “You can’t be serious, Lemar. Elenwen won’t take me out of the blue and give me a status like that, no matter what anyone says or who is in my family.”

The Justiciar leaned forwards, scooting to the edge of his chair, wine forgotten. “She could! Your title would, naturally, be honorary at first, but you are more than proving yourself! And besides,” he shifted back into his chair, “we need someone to replace Ancano at the College in Winterhold. You _are_ enrolled in that… _school_ , are you not?”

“I am,” Tar answered. He wasn’t sure what to make of this conversation, but if it could get him into the Thalmor Embassy to gather the information Delphine thought his kin had… it might be worth the shot.

“I’m not saying it’s been settled, just something you should seriously consider, Tawarthion.”

“I’m a bard; I've always been a bard first,” Tar argued.

“And now you’re an adventurer! It’s really not _such_ a change to be Justiciar – if anything, you’ll have more time to write than you do now – but think about it. Elenwen is planning a party for the ‘rich and elite’ of Skyrim – it’s my choice to invite those select few I deem worthy, and I would like you to be there to meet Elenwen.”

“Very well,” Tar agreed. “It would be at the Embassy, correct?”

“Of course. No other place is fitting,” Ondolemar scoffed, sipping his wine. They lapsed into silence for a while, the crackling fire the only sound.

“You said you needed to replace Ancano – why?” Tar asked.

Ondolemar filled his goblet again. “He’s apparently been rambling about nonsense – Psijics and Magnus and other ridiculous children’s stories, in my opinion. And most of the Dominion, as well. How is our… _friend_ … doing there?” the Justiciar smirked over the rim of his goblet.

Tawarthion couldn’t help himself – he laughed. “Every chance I get I make his life miserable. It must be the one thing everyone agrees on at the College!”

“Is that so?” Ondolemar chuckled. “Well, it serves him right for all he _used_ to do….”

“Indeed….”

“Ah, and his latest letter said something about you, Tar.”

“Oh?” Tar drained the last of his wine, and poured another goblet. If Ancano said anything about the Psijics, and the object the College had found in Saarthal, and that they believed it to be the Eye of Magnus, there was a good chance that what Ancano said held some merit if the Psijics had any truth to what they said…. “What did he say about me?”

Ondolemar shrugged nonchalantly. “That you were… _dangerous_ … to the Thalmor and our ideals. Absolute rubbish, really. He’s been alone there for too long.”

“That he has,” Tar agreed quietly, placing his wine on the table.

“Well, I must go. Elenwen expects me at the Embassy tonight, and it will take long enough to ride there with a train of bodyguards…” the Justiciar stood, placing his half-empty goblet on the table. “It was good to see you again. I do hope you think about joining us in full.”

Tar stood, and embraced his childhood friend. “I will do that, Brother. Travel safe.”

Ondolemar smirked. “And you, Brother.”

Tar saw his friend out, and closed the door with a relieved sigh. As much as he enjoyed the mer’s company, Tar found it increasingly more difficult to keep up appearances. It wouldn’t be long before he would have to choose a side, and when he did, he would lose much from one side, and gain as much on the other.

And the Gauldur question was still unanswered.

And he needed to appoint a servant to keep the house – Jordis couldn’t do that as well.

“Who was that?” Lisette’s voice called softly from the stairs, her silvery hair flowing loose around her shoulders.

“An old friend who doesn’t take kindly to inter-racial co-existence,” he answered. Lisette frowned at him, about to ask another question when he clarified: “Justiciar Ondolemar from Markarth.”

A storm grew on his Breton lover’s face. “A _Thalmor?_ ”

Tar blinked. “We grew up together – he was like a brother to me; still is. That doesn’t mean I am one of them, or that I would turn him away if he asked for my help. We’ve known each other for two-hundred-and-fifty-plus years.”

Her frown softened, and she stepped to one side as Jordis came down. “I believe you. I just wish the Dominion had never reached Skyrim.”

Tar could only nod.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

A letter came later that day from Uthgerd, saying she was in Ivarstead awaiting word from Tawarthion on their next adventure – if he wanted her to accompany him again. Tar dragged the courier inside, and wrote back to Uthgerd telling her to wait for him at Ivarstead – he was investigating the Gauldur legend and Geirmund’s Hall was his next stop. He sent the courier off with a small pouch of gold and an earnest promise to be speedy. Tar spent the night going over Daynas Valen’s notes with Lisette, and she had almost immediately started making her own notes for a ballad about Tar’s quest to find the truth. He found it a tad dramatic, but then, had he been writing it about someone else he would have done the same.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

The Altmer set out for Geirmund’s Hall just after dawn the following morning, with something of a heavy heart. It would be at least two, perhaps three months, until he saw Lisette again, and the wilds of Skyrim were especially unwelcoming in the winter. He hoped the courier had reached Ivarstead in time, and that Uthgerd was there waiting for him. Dusk fell when he rode into Ivarstead, and he could see Uthgerd’s horse tied to a post outside. He grinned, dismounting and leading his horse to the same post. The steeds whickered softly at each other, nuzzling and breathing on each other as Tar pulled his pack off the saddle and headed inside.

“It’s about time you got here, Elf.”

Tar turned to see Uthgerd with a tankard of what was surely ale on the table next to her. He laughed at the Nord woman, his steel armor chinking as he sat down next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Nord,” he greeted, and Uthgerd snorted, hiding a smile in her tankard. “So you’ve decided to follow this Gauldur legend after all, Tar.”

“Yes. I’ve found the second piece, now we need to find the third and head over to Gauldur’s tomb and put it back together.”

Uthgerd nodded thoughtfully. “Fill me in.”

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Geirmund’s Hall sat on a small island in Lake Geir to the east of Ivarstead, and they had been warned it flooded regularly, with the innkeep providing them with generous amounts of rope, and within walking distance from the village – if for some reason their horses disappeared. They rode up to a large rock formation which protected a steep drop into a cave below. Tar and Uthgerd dismounted, and the Altmer frowned as he led his horse closer. _Barrows are not usually accessed by caves…. But very well,_ he ground-tied his horse next to Uthgerd’s.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Uthgerd snorted with a cheeky grin, crow’s feet deepening around her eyes. “It’s you mages who never are!”

Tawarthion laughed, bringing a hand to rest briefly on her shoulder. “Let’s go, then!”

They slipped and slid down the barrow, and found themselves in a drafty cavern. “This is new, for a barrow,” Tawarthion commented, his palms tingling with magic as he walked forwards, motioning at all the mushrooms clustered everywhere.

Uthgerd drew her bow and three arrows, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes. Let’s see where it goes. How is Lisette?”

“She’s –”

An arrow whizzed by before he could answer, and a skeever hissed its last at his feet. He raised his brows at the dead animal, then stooped to pull out the arrow, handing it to Uthgerd. “Thank you.”

“How did you survive without me?” she teased, grinning as she took the arrow and walked past to the sinkhole that seemed to have collapsed many centuries ago.

“No-one got me distracted, firstly,” Tar fired back, flashing a grin at Uthgerd. “Hn, another adventurer…” he muttered, crouching by the yellowish corpse and quickly searched the man’s possessions. The _Lost Legends_ book was there, along with a few healing potions, which Tar quickly stuffed into his pack. “It seems the only way on is down…” Uthgerd trailed, leering over the edge. “There’s water at the bottom, too.”

Tar glanced over the edge, then tied a long rope around one of the rocks around the sinkhole. He tugged on it a few times to make sure it was secure, then let it drop down. The sides of the hole were rough enough that they could climb with relative ease, but a rope would give them balance. “I’ll go first – if there’s something down there I can use the water to my advantage,” Tar let sparks flit between his fingers. Uthgerd snorted. “Show off,” she muttered to herself, taking his rucksack. Tar grinned, and lowered himself into the hole.

The water turned out to be very deep, and Tawarthion found himself struggling to stay afloat in his armor. He swam to the only little island above the water he could make out in the gloom, and heaved himself up and out of the water. On the other side, he could make out the faint outline of a door, and when he cast a magelight, an archway was hidden deeper in the water.

“Tar?” Uthgerd called.

“I’m alright; the water’s deep, so take off your armor first and throw it down. I’ll bring it up to the bit that’s above water.”

Tar thought he heard her fume a little from above, but the distinct crash and clang of hastily discarded metal met his ears. Uthgerd hated going without armor, even for the shortest of moments. The Altmer shed his steel as well, keeping his leather breeches and soaked cotton shirt on. He knew Uthgerd would have something similar on, as well.

“I’m sending the pack first!” Uthgerd called, waiting until she saw the Altmer in the water below before she tossed the rucksack in, and then her armor, piece by piece. Tar had just pulled himself onto the island again when Uthgerd appeared with a splash. She had completely ignored the rope, and she had a cheeky grin on her face as she swam towards Tawarthion.

“You know, for a more _mature_ woman, you take a lot of risks…” the Altmer said, pulling her out of the water.

“Are you saying I’m old?”

“No – simply that you take a lot of risks for someone with as much life experience as yourself,” he grinned.

The Nord woman snorted. “Ysmir knows I can’t see anything – cast a magelight, won’t you? And is that a door over there?” Uthgerd squinted into the gloom.

“It’s a door. And a light, as per your request,” Tar threw a magelight up to the ceiling, where it stuck and illuminated the cavern.

They donned their armor again, and Tar pushed the door open. An arrow whizzed under his arm, killing a Frostbite spider. “Nice save,” he commented, stepping in. Uthgerd tried the door to the right, reaching for her picks when it refused to open. Tar explored the passage. “The innkeep wasn’t lying when he said the place was always flooded,” he called back to his companion, eyeing the puzzle stones and water.

A draugr hissed from further on, and Uthgerd was already itching to fire her arrows at it. “Stay out of the water!” Tawarthion ordered, blasting lightning into it. The room lit up with a bright flash, and the sharp crackle of lightning, then died with the draugr.

“And we’re going to walk through that, covered in metal?” Uthgerd raised a brow.

“Yes.” Tar walked into the water, turning the first pillar to eagle. The water only reached his ankles initially, but quickly rose to his thighs – and almost Uthgerd’s hips. The second pillar was already on the whale, and the third was almost impossible to move with the moss and moisture blocking its path – it was the only one above water. The fourth went easily, again. The lever was a little jammed, and it took them four tries of slamming it up and down before the portcullis opened.

Lush green ferns and mushrooms grew along the corridor, then water pooled to at least knee-depth. Tar froze a draugr, and Uthgerd shot down another. A third undead Nord hissed at them from above, high on a pillar neither could quite reach until they raced up the stairs, dodging a volley of arrows.

Uthgerd tried to shoot back, but was forced to back out of the draugr’s reach every time he fired. Tawarthion had better luck with his magic, and the undead Nord finally fell.

They turned their attention to the stone slab behind them, where Geirmund – apparently a Lord and Archmage – lay on his side, as if asleep. A writ stated that he was here to protect against Gauldur’s three sons by magic.

“I hope he doesn’t rise to fight us,” Uthgerd murmured, gingerly extracting the key he clutched between his fingers.

“Neither do I,” Tar agreed, taking the writ and placing the delicate page between the pages of a book. He turned to the door.

“Well, this is it.”

“This is the final _brother_ , we still need to find Gauldur, Uthgerd,” Tar said.

The Nord rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes; either way, we’re almost done.”

“Forgive me,” Tar said softly. “This quest is – how do you mortals say? – getting to me?”

Uthgerd the Unbroken sniggered. “You elves…. Come on, let’s go!”

They opened the door, looking straight at an arcane enchanter from the First Era. Tawarthion had never seen anything so crude before, and yet it still hummed with magicka. They were at right angles to the walkway, and Tar glanced to the right. It was closed off with an iron grate, but he suspected they would find the final son in there. Uthgerd and Tawarthion followed the path left, eventually ending up on the same pillars as the draugr from earlier. Tar dropped the drawbridges and followed it to where Sigdis lay.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

The chamber was also flooded, and once they dropped off their perch they wouldn’t get up again without help. “Well, it’s now or never,” Tar muttered, shaking his head as he quietly lowered himself into the still-shallow water. “It gets deeper, but I doubt a leisurely swim is in order,” he commented wryly, helping Uthgerd down.

She snorted. “You think, Tar?”

They made it all the way to Sigdis’s sarcophagus when he burst out. Uthgerd immediately fired an arrow at the draugr.

Tar cast a frost spell at the same time as a frost rune, sneering in satisfaction as the draugr moved closer, and was flung backwards as the rune exploded.

But Sigdis wasn’t there anymore.

“What?!” Uthgerd hissed.

“ _FUS –”_

“ _Get down!_ ”

“ _– RO DAH!!_ ”

Tar flung himself at Uthgerd just as the Thu’um passed by overhead. Her bow clattered to a side, and her greatsword slide out of its sheath.

Three versions of Sigdis were spread across the room, each with a bow, and each more than capable of the Thu’um.

Tar stood, pulling Uthgerd with him when he ducked behind the sarcophagus. Her bow was now within reach, and she shoved her blade back into sheath. Arrows rained down on them. “Which one is the real him?” Uthgerd the Unbroken hissed, firing randomly at the draugr.

“The one with the downward-curved horns!” Tar finally saw each one clearly as they focused on the Nord beside him.

“Which one is _that?!_ ” she snapped, ducking as another force wave washed over them, making the cavern shiver. “And why aren’t you Shouting back, _Dragonborn?!_ ”

“Fo, _KRAH!_ ” he Shouted, watching in satisfaction as one draugr died. Then all three vanished.

Tawarthion blinked, confused. Then they reappeared, and the original Sigdis Shouted again. “Is that the only Thu’um they know?” Tar muttered, ducking down again as the walls shivered.

“Which one is the _real_ one?!” Uthgerd pressed, shooting at all three as fast as she could.

“The one that doesn’t glow! The one in the middle!” Tar jumped up, charging chain lightning and directing it at the central draugr – the one the furthest from the fight. The three Sigdis’ and Tar Shouted Unrelenting Force at the same time, and the air exploded when their Thu’ums met. Tar bared his teeth at the violence of the noise – being Dragonborn, it didn’t affect him as much as it did Uthgerd.

She had fallen to the ground and dropped her bow, clutching her ears.

Tar used his strongest spells to kill Sigdis, and when the draugr finally died, the Altmer knelt by Uthgerd.

“Are you alright?” he asked, preparing a healing spell. She looked at him blankly, letting him gently pull her hands away from her ears. They were bleeding.

He placed his hands over her ears, focusing his magic on the most damaged parts first. Uthgerd’s face twisted in pain, and she bit back a moan.

“Almost finished, almost done,” Tawarthion soothed, even though she couldn’t hear him.

She gasped suddenly, her eyes wide open in surprise. “I can hear again,” she breathed, looking up at Tar. He slowly released the spell as it healed the last, handing her a healing potion from next to the sarcophagus. The ones in his rucksack would be smashed.

“Drink this. Good thing us mages practiced the art of preserving things since time immemorial,” he teased with a half-smile, watching as she gulped the potion down, trying hard not to taste it. “I’m going to get the amulet fragment, then I’ll be back,” he said, standing and heading into the water to the only draugr corpse. _Now I have all three pieces,_ Tawarthion thought, quickly wading back to Uthgerd, steadying her as she stood.

“I’m fine, really. Let’s go back to the inn.”

They followed a hidden passage up to the main cavern they had entered from, and Tar quickly pulled up the rope, coiling it and stuffed it into his rucksack. They rode for the inn, and found all the villagers crowded inside, speaking anxiously about a loud noise they heard from the east. It took Tar a few moments to realise that even they had heard his Thu’um collide with Sigdis’s. The two companions had a hot meal on the house, and free board from the innkeep when the villagers finally managed to extract the fact that Tawarthion was Dragonborn. The elf wrote a brief letter detailing the day’s events to Lisette, adding that he wished he was with her so he could read the ballad she had written so far, and that he and Uthgerd were headed to Reachwater Cave in the morning before sending it to Solitude with a courier.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Reachwater Cave’s entrance was underneath an icy waterfall, feeding a shallow, rocky stream which dropped further down before it got a chance to flow. Once Tawarthion and Uthgerd were inside, a narrow stream led them deeper into the cave.

“Well, this certainly is beautiful,” Uthgerd whispered, taking in the underground lake, the moss growing on the high walls of the cave, and the cold Skyrim sun shining down from the very top. A pathway led to a water-carved bridge and platform, an ancient tree the only thing illuminated by the sunlight.

“Yes…. Let’s head up…” Tar stared at the tree, wishing he knew more about Alteration magic in order to copy the scene onto parchment or canvas…. He’d have to settle for an ode later.

They headed up to the platform, a dead adventurer lying against the tree; his blood once pooled around him and coated the bark. Tar frowned sadly, then took the emerald claw from the pedestal and read the ancient edict pinned underneath.

 _Let this place be forgotten forever._  
Let it be struck from the rolls of history.  
Let it never be spoken of by man or mer.  
Let its very name be lost to the ages.

 _Ye who enter here, know:_  
This place was sealed at great price.  
Honor those who perished here.  
Turn back, and leave them to their rest.

“That’s encouraging,” Uthgerd commented when Tar took the page and slipped it into a book for safekeeping. “And up there’s the door,” they both said at the same time. They chuckled, then headed up, lining up the stone circles and unlocked the door. _Bear, Whale, Snake…_.

Three other doors opened in turn after the first, and the pair walked along the long corridor warily. Even Tawarthion was beginning to wonder about this quest he had set out on.

“By Ysmir and Talos…” Uthgerd breathed, staring at the carvings on the Hall of Stories.

Tar strode over, following the depictions of carnage and strife three men – seemingly brothers – had wreaked upon the land, and how they had murdered their father, and finally their deaths and the curses placed on each brother.

Uthgerd and Tawarthion came to a final door – the fifth in total – and Tar stared at the door for a moment, then swapped the emerald claw for the ivory one, shifting the circles into the correct pattern.

“Tawarthion!” Uthgerd cried, and the elf pressed himself flat against the door, feeling the darts just glance off his armor.

Until he shifted slightly, and one embedded itself in his arm, another in his calf. He forced himself back against the door with a snarl, and turned the claw.

The torrent of darts stopped, and the door slid into the ground, Tar almost going with it. Uthgerd ran over, looping an arm around Tar and tried to help the tall mer to the side. He sat down heavily, glaring at the dart in his right arm and then the other in his left calf.

“I’m going to pull it out on three,” the Nord said. Tar nodded, looking away as she wrapped a hand around the dart in his arm. He would have preferred to do it himself, but he didn’t argue with Uthgerd.

“Three!”

Tawarthion clenched his jaw and bared his teeth – it hurt more to remove the dart than it had to put it there. He clasped a hand over the wound and focused a healing spell on it.

“You really can’t count, Uthgerd,” he tried to tease, flashing a stiff smile.

She only huffed in response. “I’ll start at the beginning, then.”

But Tar pulled the dart out before she could reach for it, sucking in a deep breath, automatically dropping the dart and clasped both hands around his calf, healing the wound. Uthgerd smirked at him, thrusting one of the healing potions they had bought at him.

“Drink this, Mage. Can’t have you falling down _these_ stairs….”

Tar shot her a look, rolling his eyes as he gulped down the potion. He’d never been good at walking down the narrow steps the ancient Nords had been so fond of, and the stairs and passage they were headed down was especially roughly hewn, leading to a right turn and more stairs down.

Finally, they passed an arch into a vast, symmetrical burial chamber, with at least eight sarcophagi Tawarthion could see – and surely all contained draugr he and Uthgerd would have to kill. At the opposite end of the hall, a large sarcophagus stood on a dais, and just in front of that was a table with three pedestals – one for each of the amulet fragments. Tar strode forwards, placing the three pieces on the pedestals.

“Godsdammit!” Uthgerd swore, drawing her greatsword. Tar turned to look at her, and saw an iron gate had fallen, preventing them from leaving. The Altmer snarled, moving to stand next to Uthgerd when the soft whisper of magic met his ears.

In front of the dais stood the ghosts of the three sons of Gauldur. “We have to kill them again? Didn’t they realise they were dead the first time we killed them?” Uthgerd scowled, grasping the blade as the sons turned to face the pair. Mikrul was the first to take up arms against them, Jyrik and Sigdis watched from above.

Tar snarled at the draugr, casting a lightning rune on the floor in front of him and Uthgerd, lightning and fire magic at the ready. Three sarcophagi burst open.

“You take Mikrul, I’ll handle the others,” Uthgerd said, standing back-to-back with Tar.

“For victory or Sovngarde!” he said, blasting his magic at Mikrul.

Uthgerd charged her opponents, shouting a battle cry.

Mikrul came too close to Tar’s frost rune, and it shattered in all directions. “Fus, ro _DAH!_ ” Tar Shouted, throwing the draugr back and sending an ice storm his way, pleased with the way the draugr shivered and shuddered. Uthgerd’s blade squelched out of a body, clanging against metal.

A final fire spell killed the ghost of Mikrul, and he joined his brothers on the dais, just as Uthgerd killed her second draugr. Tar turned to join her in killing the third, throwing an ice spike into its chest as Uthgerd hacked at its legs. It fell to her mercy, and she drove her sword through its head. She flipped a few stray strands back from her face.

“That all you got?” she challenged, turning to the three brothers and swinging her blade once to free it of blood. Sigdis snarled and growled, vanishing as he had before.

Tar cast two rune spells around Uthgerd and himself, watching for the elusive draugr’s appearance. “Sweet Auri-El,” Tar swore, looking at two copies of Sigdis.

“You also see two of him?” Uthgerd checked.

“Yes. You’re looking at –”

“– A real one, yes. He’s not glowing.”

Another three sarcophagi opened, and the fight began in earnest. Sigdis kept moving, kept pulling his clones out of existence and moving them to where the Dragonborn and his companion didn’t expect them to appear. Several times, Tar nearly singed Uthgerd, or she almost swung her blade at him while they kept moving, dodging arrows and killing seemingly endless draugr.

In the end, it was Uthgerd who killed the original Sigdis, leaving Tar backed against a pillar with two normal draugr. “Fo, _KRAH!_ ” he Shouted, freezing one and electrocuting the other.

Uthgerd ran over, impaling the frozen one on her sword and Tar blasted the second with another bout of lightning. He exchanged a frustrated glare with Uthgerd, wrenching one of his magicka potions out of his rucksack and drinking it quickly. Tawarthion much preferred the fresher, minty taste of a magicka potion.

“Your turn, Jyrik!” Tar growled, smashing the glass bottle on the floor, lightning arcing up his forearms in fury. He was tired of being toyed with by these draugr brothers. “ _Come!_ ” his voice resounded with the power of his Thu’um, and Jyrik seemed happy to oblige.

The draugr summoned a daedra lord and a frost atronach, and the final two sarcophagi opened. Jyrik roared a battle cry, and Tar matched it with one of his own. The walls shivered slightly.

The Altmer ran towards the draugr, a flame cloak licking at his skin and armor, using both hands to direct a firebolt at Jyrik. Tar ducked under a swing by the frost atronach, melting some of its ice-form. Jyrik howled, swinging his blade at Tar. Uthgerd was surrounded.

“ _WULD!_ ”

Tar’s Thu’um carried him to his Nord companion, fire burning the daedra lord and the draugr, lightning coursing through them as Uthgerd cut her way out of the throng. “Iiz, _SLEN!!_ ” Tar Shouted, freezing Jyrik in place. He snarled as he cast an ice storm at the draugr, and Uthgerd swapped her blade for her bow, shooting the draugr where he wasn’t covered in ice. “Fus, RO _DAH!!_ ”

The caverns shuddered as Tar shattered the ice around Jyrik, killing the draugr. His hands and wrists glowed blue from all the magicka he held but wasn’t using.

“Tar….”

A fourth ghost appeared, dressed in rich, flowing robes. Tawarthion was left confused for a moment, breathing heavily from the fight and his anger. Then the ghost raised his hands, and the three sons of Gauldur turned to face the fourth ghost. A violent explosion flashed in bright blue, forcing Uthgerd and Tawarthion to turn away from its source. When they looked back, the brothers and the fourth ghost were gone and the amulet hovered in the air with an orange glow, then floated down to the central pedestal where it lay, whole.

Tar’s hands still glowed, when he reached for the whole amulet, and he could sense it would grant him protection from physical wounds, allow him to use more magicka, and keep him going for longer. _No wonder they killed for a piece of the amulet – it’s very powerful,_ Tawarthion thought.

“Tar…?”

The Altmer turned around, looking at Uthgerd the Unbroken questioningly, tucking the amulet into a pouch.

“Are you alright?” she pressed cautiously, sheathing her blade and collecting her bow from where she had thrown it.

“Yes. Let’s go home,” he said, glancing back at Gauldur’s sarcophagus. _Thank you; and may you have peace now in the afterlife_ , he thought, realizing the ancient mage had been the one to destroy his sons.


End file.
